


Numbers Under the Shadow

by hallulawy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Obsessive Behaviour, Underage Character, i'll add more tags in the future chapters, obsessive cannibal to be exact
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:09:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallulawy/pseuds/hallulawy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Will is a teenager and piques the interest of a certain cannibal, which later turns into something so much more than just mere interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Numbers Under the Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt in writing a fic for this fandom, not exciting at all cause I’m worrying over everything. I sincerely hope I didn’t screw this up bad.  
> I just wanted to write something, and then it turns out to be something least of my expectations, I hope this isn't disturbing just yet. :/  
> I'll try to finish this up as soon as possible, and not make too much of delays.

 

 

* * *

_Come, precious snow. Silken skin and doll blue eyes. How elated I am to claim your lips and soul, your blood and flesh, fear and all._

* * *

 

Hannibal knew Will over a man named Jack Crawford. The man visited him one day, and brought the boy with him. 

A boy that is lean, pallor and wore clothes that were too big and made him look like he’s drowned in them. 

Over a set of informal introductory conversation, he learnt that the little one is William. And he is here to be understood. By Hannibal to be exact. 

His ailment involves slight stutter and nightmares. The burly doctor had a face of regret, saying the boy was traumatized by a recent, unhappy event. Which is implied to have something to do with the boy’s conspicuous scab on his right palm. But Hannibal saw the thin scar on the neck, and Jack Crawford didn’t have to say anything for him to know it was a hostage incident. 

But Crawford, with a stern tone, gave the doctor a statement that he never really expect. 

The child has the imagination of a killer. 

Hannibal cocks his head to the left, contemplating after Jack left. He remain seated in his vast armchair, seeing that the boy took his seat in the patient’s seat without ever inquiring anything. He thought of entertaining the boy with his trifles, baubles and maybe give him some treat so to diminish the famine that is apparent from the prominent cheekbones. 

That’s how it works with children, by catching their eyes on something shiny.

But before he could start, the boy, who remained silent throughout the first twenty minutes, spoke. 

‘I’m not here to be psychoanalyzed.’ The boy speaks in a firm yet shuddered tone. ‘Y-You won’t like it when I’m psychoanalyzed.’   
‘No matter what Uncle Crawford told you, I’m perfectly f-fine.’ 

The boy looks at Hannibal’s direction, but not seeing the psychiatrist. The pair of big deep sky blue eyes are murky, yet piercing as Hannibal feel enthralled by the gaze. 

Then he dips his head, looking down at his pair of fidgeting hands, the thin fingers long and nicely shaped, the pale of it shone at the contrast of his dark uniform. 

Amused, Hannibal suppresses the urge to laugh. It seems that this boy, who is claimed to be on the spectrum of being horrifyingly deviant, is playing his role very well. A fragile little prince clad in the shades of grotesque power. The tiny mongoose that doesn’t understand the sweetness of blood and flesh.

_He empathizes with the killers completely.  
_

How would this beautiful creature transfigure under him, into something so truly breathtaking, that those pair of eyes would coruscate under the darkest night. He feels a rush of pleasure as he imagine this frail boy, to be submerged in the pool of desire, to have his porcelain skin painted with rogue. 

_He could connect to me, a pretty little pet_.

How very tempting. 

Despite his overwhelming urge to poke on the boy for more unexpected responses, he complies to Crawford’s order of be easy on him. For now. 

‘Do you mind me calling you Will, William?’ Hannibal drinks in the sight of the fluffy, curly hair that is as rebellious as the boy is obedient. 

The boy shakes his head slowly. Eyes focused onto the ground. 

‘Good. Then you may call me Hannibal, or Doctor Lecter. Depending on whichever you prefer.’ Hannibal makes the effort to grin, even though he knows very well the boy couldn’t see it. He stood up, and went for the pot of tea he brewed earlier, lukewarm and still have the thin scent of lemon lingering in the air. 

‘Now, Will. Would you like some tea, or should we start befriending each other?’ 

* * *

 

Will is truly unique. 

Hannibal acknowledges it when he saw how the boy closes his eyes and starts wielding his beautiful gift. He would start murmuring about how the murderers would slaughter their victims, how the blood splaters and how the wounds are forced upon them. Whether it’s agonizingly slow with elegance, or lightning fast with brute force, he would whisper them like secrets that should never be told, acquired from the lifeless bodies. 

_Breathtaking._

Hannibal hid his awestruck well enough, as he stood beside agent Crawford, half-hearing the bulky man’s hushed whispers and doubts. He hear the tone of remorse ringing, but there is pride in the man’s elucidation. 

‘… We need him you know, but we couldn’t get him to those that are really appalling, those that really needs some cracking. Because there’s these restrictions.’ Crawford left the sentence hanging, and Hannibal finally tore his gaze from the boy, and look into the agent’s eyes with a buried annoyance.   
‘What sort of restrictions?’ What prohibits the boy from making contact of those that are truly abhorred, those that make these bloodshed banal? He could feel Will coming to an end with his observation, and eager to get his attention back to his desired mongoose. 

‘Graham has a sister of some-sort. From his foster family, and she cares about him more than he himself does. She asked us to restrain ourselves from letting him come close to the cases where we have met some… Obstacles in finding the murderer.’ He grumbles, and straightens himself up as Will starts telling the forensic team what to look for, with a dull tone and duller eyes. 

‘I understand that. But he has a gift, for even a layman as I could see that the convicts could be punished for their crimes with certainty. Unlike what happened in the past, and even now.’ Hannibal speaks without any hesitation, as far as a spectator and never the perspective of a wrongdoer he ever thought of. 

_So Will has not met true grotesque?_

‘Doctor, we know that. And for heaven’s sake, we’re lucky to even have him here, now. He’s only 15, and it’s a mystery that he would be willing to help. When I made my offer, his sister looked like she was going to squeeze my eyeballs out. The fact that Will is socially-inept isn’t helping at all.’ He sighs. ‘So we’re trying to keep it easy, and not including him in any of those traumatizing crime scenes that even I have hard time coping with.’ The man pointed to himself with a disgusted face, his eyes bulging. 

Hannibal says nothing because Will is nearing, with ashen face and droopy shoulders. Crawford let the discussion end, and plastered a tight smile as he pats the small ones thin shoulders. 

‘That’s a good job you done there today.’ The fatherly figure Crawford tries imposing left a sour taste in Hannibal's mouth as Will ducks his head low with a flush for the compliment. ‘Thank you, Will. I will be sure to inform Alana. She fetching you soon?’ 

‘She’s busy with her lectures today.’ Will says quietly, and Hannibal sees how his fingers went pulling at the hem of his shirt. 

_How he yearns to touch those hands._

‘I can give you a ride.’ Hannibal suggests, smiling when he knew the boy would look up. ‘If you don’t mind. Is it alright, Jack?’ 

‘As long as Will is fine, I don’t see why not.’ He shrugs. 

Both the men put the decision in Will’s hands, and Hannibal is delighted when the boy nods curtly.

He led the boy to his vehicle, crossed the verdant lawn and under the beaming sun. He took the opportunity to place his hand on the boy’s thin waist, escorting him like how a gentleman should. The boy winces.

‘Come. I shall fetch you home and you will feel all the better.’ Hannibal says as he opens the vehicle’s door, noticing the slight frustration in the boy’s expression.

‘I’m just a bit dizzy, that’s all.’ He mutters, climbing into the car.

‘Then I’ll make you tea after we reach your home.’

Will looks past him, and turns his head defiantly, cheeks flushed under the warm weather.

What Will doesn’t realize, is how soft Hannibal’s eyes are when they are looking at him. And how hard they are when others approach. 

_Like he's his favourite pet. ___


End file.
